“Go! Move! Move!” a guard shouted.
Two armored guardsmen—the ones stationed at the eastern gate—came rushing back toward town.
“I can’t believe the Captain is calling a town emergency alert,” the male guard huffed.
Their armor rattled as another pair of guards passed them, already briefed and moving to replace them at the gates.
“You think it’s that kid?” the female guard asked. “The one talking about demons?”
“Damn that idiot. I can’t believe he went to the Captain and convinced him,” the man growled.
All around them, people poured from their homes. Shouts overlapped, confusion spreading through the streets. Able-bodied townsfolk turned toward the barracks—all registered members of the militia, answering the call.
Then a bright flash sparked at the edge of their vision, far off.
Both guards stopped and looked toward the forest.
“Hey,” she exhaled, squinting, “was that the direction that kid came from?”
The man’s face scrunched beneath his helmet as he stared at the fading light.
“What the hell is going on?”
Finn reached the ritual site, the same ruins the cultists had been visiting for days. But what he found didn’t make any sense.
The site was destroyed.
Cracked stone littered the ground. Gravel and shattered slabs lay everywhere. The altar—the focal point of everything—had been broken apart entirely.
They moved…
Finn swung back onto his bike and pushed on.
The cultists had mentioned the mines. He could only hope they meant the abandoned shafts, black and rotting at the mountain’s base, rather than the working tunnels Greystone relied on. If it was the latter, half the town would be in danger—and he’d be too late to stop it.
He had no choice but to commit.
As he rode, a thunderous boom split the night behind him. A bright flash tore across the sky—a lightning bolt in the middle of clear darkness. Gone in a second.
Veronica! You’re alive!
Relief surged through him. Only she could make the sky burn like that. She was still fighting. Still alive.
Finn tightened his grip on the handlebars and pedaled harder.
He crested the hill and sped down toward the mountain. Jagged stone rose against the night sky, and there—beneath splintered beams—yawned a dark mouth in the rock: the entrance to the abandoned mine.
No voices. No people. Only the distant rumble and the occasional flash far behind him.
He shoved the bike behind a tree, buried it in brush, and crept forward to the cave.
The moment he stepped beneath the beams, darkness swallowed him. He slowed, each step as quiet as he could manage. The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint scrape of his shoes on stone.
For a long moment, there was nothing. Just blackness and his own heartbeat.
Then, he saw a flicker.
Spilling light came from ahead. Torches burning in the dark.
There shouldn’t have been torches burning in an abandoned mine. They told Finn only one thing.
He pressed himself against the damp wall and crept deeper. The air was colder, heavy with dust and something sharper—copper and rot. Every step was careful. Even his breath felt too loud.
The torchlight grew stronger. He reached a bend in the tunnel and crouched low, inching forward until he could peer around the corner.
Two robed figures moved in the chamber beyond, their shadows stretching long across the stone walls, warped by the dancing flames.
Finn didn’t know their faces, not really—but one of them made his stomach twist. He’d seen that jaw, that hooked nose. On a poster nailed to the outside of an inn’s bulletin board months ago. A missing man. Farmer? Merchant? He couldn’t remember. Just that the face had been stamped with a word: Reward.
The two men worked in silence, bent over a ritual circle inscribed into the dirt. Dark streaks glistened along the lines.
His gut tightened.
Demon blood, Finn realized. It looked way too dark and vile for human blood. And he’d seen a dead deer carcass before, so it wasn’t an animal, either.
They adjusted vials, poured measured drops of liquid, and traced edges with care. Unlike the one in the ruins, this circle was much more intricate. Fuller and more complex. Like the other one had been incomplete—an imitation—and that this was the genuine article.
“They should’ve brought the girl by now.” His voice was impatient, fraying at the edges. He glanced at a pocket clock resting on a small table beside him.
Man from the wanted poster shifted impatiently, rubbing the back of his head in a nervous tic.
“I don’t know. Those guys had the invisibility bracelets. Cost us a fortune, but they work. Maybe they ran into a boar or something in the forest.”
“Or they’re dead. Maybe they failed the mission?”
The man scoffed, shaking his head. “If they’re dead, they’re dead. We’ll move to plan B. The viscount and the baron won’t lift a finger for commoners. They’ll be too busy protecting themselves.”
Finn’s chest thumped hard and fast. He dug his fingernails into the dirt to keep himself still, but the urge to run and shout clawed at him.
They really are going to do it. Even without Claire. They’ll slaughter anyone, just to finish this.
That sealed it. If the ritual wasn’t stopped here, it wouldn’t matter what Veronica did to the demon. It wouldn’t matter how many guards Hadrian rallied. The cult would just keep going until they had their sacrifice. They were that confident in sieging an attack on the town.
He pressed flatter against the corner as the two men turned, their backs to him now, crouched low as they worked again over the glowing circle.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
His throat felt dry. But his thoughts drifted back to yesterday.
It was midday in Greystone, the air bright with the lively hum of festival preparations. Veronica sat at a small iron table near the town open space that she called a park. Her hair was tied back loosely; a simple sandwich in her hands. She had just bitten into it when Finn plopped himself down in the wooden chair across from her. The second day in a row.
“Teach me,” he said flatly, chin propped on his fists.
Veronica chewed. Slowly. She stared at him over the edge of her sandwich, eyes narrow. “No.”
“You promised!”
“I did not.” She set the sandwich down, irritated. “I told you to stop following me, or I’d turn you into a frog.”
“Tree frog,” Finn corrected. “You said tree frog.”
Her eye twitched.
“Please,” he pressed, leaning forward, pouting. “I gave you a lot of information already about the cultists.”
She exhaled hard through her nose, pinching the bridge of it between two fingers. She couldn’t even find the boy’s family anywhere to drop him off. But if it was just something so simple to get him to stop bothering her—
“Fine. Just—fine. If it shuts you up.”
Finn sat up straight like a soldier. “Yes!”
“Don’t celebrate.” She jabbed a finger at him. “I’m only telling you the bare minimum. It won’t make you a mage in the slightest. Just don’t overdo it and blow yourself up And believe me, you will blow yourself up if you try to rush it.”
His eyes went wide. “Wait, actually explode? Like—boom?” He made a little gesture with his hands.
“Yes. Boom. Now, give me your hand.”
He blinked. “Eh?”
“Your hand, idiot.”
He offered it across the table. Veronica took it in hers. He remembered how soft her fingers were—compared to his, which were callused from playing inside the forest. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling once. When she spoke, her voice was softer, more deliberate.
“You already have mana veins. Everyone does. But they’re sluggish and dormant, like rivers blocked by debris. To sense them, you need a push. So…”
A faint warmth spread from her fingers into his hand. He jerked slightly.
“W-what—”
“Relax. That’s my mana,” she said curtly. “I’m sending a little through you. Enough to travel your veins. Follow it. Pay attention to where it flows. It’ll disappear in a second.”
Finn froze, eyes widening. He felt it—like a tiny spark drifting through his chest, a glowing thread curling along paths he never knew were there. Then, the sensation vanished. But he focused harder. And faintly, he could feel the same thing. But much, much weaker, coursing through his body.
“That’s… that’s me?”
“That’s you,” Veronica confirmed. “I just helped you see it. Now keep feeling for it. Don’t stop when I let go.”
Her hand released his. The warmth faded, but the impression lingered. He could still sense the little ember glowing beneath his ribs. He could feel it traveling through his body.
“Now, the next step is control. Try to nudge it faster or slower. And don’t get clever.” Her gaze sharpened at him. “It takes weeks—months—for most to do even that. Don’t try actually using your mana or sending it out. If you do it while clueless about how to control it, you’ll blow up whatever is in front of you. You’ll even scorch yourself at the same time from the backlash. Worst case scenario, you blow out your mana core and become incapable of using any more magic.”
Finn winced. “Got it. Only make mana flow. No sending it out.”
Veronica nodded. “Good. Now let me eat my sandwich.”
She hadn’t really taught him anything—at least, not the way he’d expected. It had only been the first step, the kind meant to help people feel their own mana. Some kids even discovered their mana by accident.
At least, that was what she had said.
For now—it was perfect for him, and as promised, he stopped pestering her.
Back in the mine, Finn pressed tighter against the wall. His heart thundered in his chest, but beneath it, he felt something else. The faint ember Veronica had shown him yesterday.
He’d spent all night focusing on it.
It was still small. Still very weak. But it was there. If she’d been telling the truth, then he didn’t need incantations or spell circles. He didn’t need training. He only needed that ember.
His first move. His own magic.
Detonate mana.
She had warned him. It could burst outward, uncontrolled. It could scar him—or worse. But if he could stop the ritual, then burned hands wouldn’t matter. If she never taught him again… maybe that was fine.
The greatest hero in Greystone didn’t need to become a mage to save people.
Finn clenched his teeth and pressed his palms, still covered in dried blood, flat against the stone floor. He pulled at his mana, hard.
Sparks raced clumsily down his arms, searing hot. His palms flared with erratic light, the smell of scorched skin flooding his nose. He bit back a cry.
Then he ran.
He tore from the shadows with a shout, arms outstretched. The nearest cultist—the one from the poster—was only a few steps ahead.
The man turned in surprise. But it was too late for him.
Finn’s palms slammed into his stomach.
“What the—”
The mana burst.
A crackling explosion ripped outward, blasting the cultist off his feet. He flew, smashed into the ground, and skidded across the glowing ritual circle before stopping a few meters away. His head bounced once. He groaned, but didn’t get back up.
The second cultist spun, knife flashing from his robes. His eyes widened at the sight in the smoke—a filthy boy, no older than twelve, hands sizzling with wild sparks of mana.
“What?!” he barked. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”
Finn stood shaking, breath ragged. His palms smoked, skin raw—nearly melted—like he’d shoved them into a campfire. He didn’t dare look at them..
“…A brat?” The man sneered, stepping closer, hand sliding toward his knife. “You’re from the town, aren’t you? You’re going to regret this.”
Before anything could happen, the mountain roared.
A deafening explosion thundered from outside, shaking the tunnel. Torches flickered; dust and stone rained from above. The mountain groaned, deep and angry, and rock collapsed behind Finn, partially sealing the passage.
Finn's eyes barely registered it, flicking behind him, then back to the cultist. Why? Why was it collapsing now of all times?
The cultist’s head snapped up, panic flashing across his face. “What—what was that?!”
He looked back at Finn’s sparking hands and sneered. “Stupid boy. What did you do? The mine’s about to collapse. You’ll kill us both you idiot.” His eyes lowered, into a sharper, threatening glare. “Now move. Slowly. Go back the way you came.”
The mountain groaned again, louder.
The man took another step forward.
“Stop! Destroy the circle first!” Finn shouted. His voice cracked, but his glare held. “Now—or I’ll burn everything!”
Light sizzled from his palms. Pain flared up his arms, but he didn’t back down.
The man hesitated. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might listen. “…Fine.” He crouched, eyes shifting toward the glowing circle.
Then he pivoted and lunged, knife bared. Only a few meters away.
“No—!” Instinct took over. Finn screamed and shoved everything he had outward. “I warned you!”
The air erupted.
A concussive blast of raw mana tore from Finn’s palms, the chamber cracking with thunder as a shockwave ripped through the stale dark as torches snuffed.
The cultist was hurled backward, slammed against the ground in a heap. His knife spun from his grasp and clattered across the stone. His robe was ripped open in jagged streaks, burns seared across his arms and chest where the blast had struck.
Finn staggered, smoke rising faintly from his palms. His whole body shook. Pain screamed up his arms, white-hot and unrelenting. His jaw clenched as he ground his teeth, biting back the cry that threatened to come loose, despite the tears in his eyes.
The man grunted, coughing as he rolled onto his side. Blood smeared across the dirt where his elbow dragged. But he wasn’t finished. His eyes locked on Finn, burning with fury, as he clawed to pull himself upright.
Then his gaze flicked down. His arm. Blood dripped freely, running into the grooves of the circle inscribed in the floor—where it mingled with the thick, black demon’s ichor.
“No!” His voice cracked. He stared in horror. “Damn it, no—!” He slammed his fist into the dirt. “The blood’s contaminated!” His glare snapped back to Finn, eyes bloodshot, livid with rage. The demon blood needed to be separated from the rest.
“That’s going to take hours to fix! Not to mention us begging that demon for more blood! Do you know how many he’s killed?!”
The mine groaned once more.
The sound was low and vast, like the mountain itself shifting in its sleep. Finn’s head jerked upward—just as the first wooden support beam overhead split.
Finn’s knees wobbled. His hands hung heavy and useless, the sparks gone, leaving only blistering pain and an empty hollow inside his body. Despite that, he kept his hands extended, as if daring the cultist to make another move.
His eyes darted over to the panicked cultist for just a moment. Then, they flicked to the ritual circle. Things didn't matter now.
He had done it. He saved everyone. He could now be recognized as the greatest hero of Greystone.
Crack.
The sound echoed like a cannon firing. Splinters rained down as the timber sagged, bending under its own weight, beginning to snap.
Finn’s eyes widened, heart seizing in his chest. “N-no!” He barely registered it, adrenaline filling his veins as he stared down the cultist. But reality was slowly sinking in. They were both about to be buried alive.
A loud snap of wood echoed above him as pebbles began to fall.
He shut his eyes, clenching his raw fists. “Veronica—!”
His scream didn't leave the cave.
The beam above broke; everything came down in a storm of dust and falling debris. Once the first support shattered, the rest all followed, caving in the small mineshaft as the mountain shuddered. All sound turned into that of rumbling rock, burying Finn, the cultists, and the demonic ritual circle that had been the center of everything.
https://discord.gg/9bqk4dHD2w
Path of Revelation and the Path of Longevity
Path of Revelation and the Path of Longevity specialize in sustained awareness and long distance communication. Rather than brief flashes of insight, their magic remains continuously active, dynamically updating their perception and vision, allowing them to understand situations as they change. This can manifest as long-distance scrying magic, allowing for them to see things from far away, and even share those visions. These mages serve well as battlefield communicators and strategist, directing and ordering troops. These were the first mages to help assist and create communication devices used all over the kingdom, revolutionizing access to information.
Do you think Finn survived the cave-in?
